


I'll be what you need

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teacher-Student Relationship, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 08:05:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3023696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac is the prince, Combeferre is his tutor, and their relationship is not that simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll be what you need

There's a special place, Combeferre thinks hazily, for people like him. People who are not only unable to say no to the crown prince, but who let him talk them into truly terrible things. Perhaps Combeferre is the only one in this particular predicament. Perhaps there's a special place for him, specifically. Probably in hell. Or, if they're caught, the palace dungeons.

"I'm meant to be _teaching you important things_ ," he gasps out and he'd sound much firmer about it if not for the fact that he's naked in the prince's room, that the prince's mouth is hot and wet and wonderful, around his cock. 

Courfeyrac chuckles, pulling off Combeferre and kissing the bare skin of his hip. Looking up with a coy smile, Courfeyrac replies, "Oh, but I'm learning _very_ important things, Combeferre. I'm learning all about the beautiful sound you make when I do this—"

His fingers press gently against Combeferre's perineum, drawing a breathless moan out of him. Combeferre clamps a hand over his mouth, hoping he hasn't been heard. His hand goes to Courfeyrac's hair and the smile he gets is more genuine this time, fond, and it's all too easy to forget himself under the power of that smile, to forget everything that isn't Courfeyrac.

Combeferre is a tutor and the kingdom's most brilliant one at that. There are barely a handful of years between himself and Courfeyrac and perhaps that is the reason they have never had a proper teacher-student relationship. Courfeyrac considers him a friend and has always treated him as such. 

Barely over a month ago, a late-night lesson on the kingdom's history changed their relationship further, books and lineages replaced by lips and wandering hands. Courfeyrac has been difficult to stop ever since and the fault lies entirely with Combeferre. Courfeyrac would stop if he is asked, they have both acknowledged this as their first and foremost rule. The problem is that Courfeyrac is a quick learner and once their lessons are over, Combeferre is not overly inclined to stop him. As much as he fears being caught, he has faith in the locked door and thick walls. He muffles his moans against his hand and if it drives Courfeyrac to try and make him louder, Combeferre doesn't quite mind. 

"I don't want you to come yet," Courfeyrac murmurs, getting up from where he was kneeling, and strokes Combeferre's cock lightly. "I want you inside me. I made sure that I have plenty of oil. I know you like to be cautious with me."

"And I know that you enjoy it when I am," Combeferre rasps, leaning forward to capture Courfeyrac's lips with his own. "Do you have spare sheets for your bed?" 

Courfeyrac nods, but doesn't move away. Combeferre so rarely initiates kisses and Courfeyrac treasures them whenever he has the chance. It makes Combeferre feel guilty, somewhere beneath all the fear that he's overstepped his bounds, that he's allowed himself to want something he'll never have. He deepens their kiss, until Courfeyrac is clinging to him, kissing back with all that he has. 

The prince is easy to lift and he enjoys being carried, curling into Combeferre's arms for the short distance until they reach the bed. Courfeyrac pulls Combeferre on top of him, seeking another kiss. Combeferre props himself up by the elbows, his lips pliant against Courfeyrac's. He knows how much Courfeyrac likes to kiss, knows that they barely get the chance to kiss the way he wants to. Hurried kisses between lessons are a compromise, the quick peck of lips in passing with nobody else in sight is even worse. What Courfeyrac wants is this, to have the time to steal each other's breath, their bodies coming alive with the need for more. Combeferre, already brought so close to the edge with Courfeyrac's mouth earlier, tries to fill his head with distracting thoughts. Failing that, he wraps his fingers around the base of his cock, staying his orgasm for a little longer.

The movement brings Courfeyrac out of his daze, back into the present. He blinks up at Combeferre, gentle hands cupping his cheeks. "What do you need?"

"Only whatever you wish," he replies softly. He kisses the corner of Courfeyrac's mouth. "I'm afraid I might not last long enough for you to find me satisfying."

Courfeyrac laughs, a small, incredulous sound. "What gives you the impression that I'd find it unsatisfying? I have never, ever found you or your actions unsatisfying, Combeferre."

"Your highness—" Combeferre begins, before he's silenced with a hand on his mouth. Courfeyrac's fingers curl against his cheek, squeezing gently in frustration.

"You know not to call me that. Not ever, especially not here." Courfeyrac is not angry, but his tone is firm. He moves his hand away. "Do _not_ make this about rank, Combeferre. You are not here because I command you to be. Are you?"

"No."

"Yet you distance yourself from me," Courfeyrac continues and Combeferre ducks his head, ashamed at being caught. "You pretend that the only pleasure that matters is mine, and that is never the case. Not in bed, not in any other aspect of life."

They both know that the royal family is becoming little more than a figurehead, as it should be. Courfeyrac is encouraging the notion, glad for their leader to be chosen by a system that is more democratic. The status of the royal family is slowly being diminished and yet—

"You're still worried about being caught," Courfeyrac realises. "You think that you could actually be _punished_ for this. Even though you know it's perfectly legal for men to love each other—"

"Courfeyrac?" Combeferre blinks, surprised, as his mind races to catch up to Courfeyrac's words.

"—To bed each other," Courfeyrac continues, his casual tone belied by the blush creeping across his face. "I'm allowed to take whoever I want to bed. I've chosen you, and nobody is able to punish either of us for it. Not even the king."

"Courfeyrac," Combeferre says patiently, "you said—"

"I said I want you inside me," Courfeyrac interrupts, the blush reaching his ears now. He turns away from Combeferre, reaching for the oil on his bedside table. He stays turned away, even as he hands the vial to Combeferre.

"Like this?" Combeferre asks as he takes the vial and slicks his fingers, because they wouldn't have come this far without him learning to indulge Courfeyrac when necessary. He gets a nod in reply and sighs quietly, rubbing his fingers gently against Courfeyrac's entrance. "It's a shame. I do enjoy watching you as I spread you open for me."

Courfeyrac gasps at the first finger, then louder at the second finger that follows soon after. Combeferre crooks his fingers, pulling them out slowly before thrusting them back in, for the way Courfeyrac grunts softly, his face pressed against the mattress. If Combeferre can't watch his face, there are still several other ways to ensure that Courfeyrac is enjoying this. He pauses, leaving Courfeyrac panting, his fingers tensing anxiously against his pillow as Combeferre adds more oil. By the time Combeferre has three fingers in Courfeyrac, his thighs are slick with oil too and they've already made a mess of the spare sheet spread out on the bed. Courfeyrac is close, bearing back onto Combeferre's fingers, seeking more pressure. He's begging against the mattress and Combeferre has let it go, unheeded, until Courfeyrac's shoulders are trembling, his fingers digging into the sheets, twisting them. Now, even if Combeferre doubts that he'll last for long, he knows that Courfeyrac will likely come even sooner.

"I'm going to fuck you now," Combeferre murmurs, slicking his cock as Courfeyrac sobs with relief. 

He bears down on Courfeyrac, pinning him to the bed with his weight. Courfeyrac grunts with every little adjustment Combeferre makes to their position, until Courfeyrac is lying on his belly and Combeferre is bent over him, his cock fully sheathed.

"Courfeyrac," he whispers, kissing one of his trembling shoulders.

"Ngh?" He's already incoherent, and Combeferre kisses his shoulder again.

"I love you too." 

Perhaps there is a protocol for the first time one tells a prince that they love him. Perhaps it shouldn't be when they're both shaking with need, but Courfeyrac lets out an exquisite whimper, lifts his head and looks over his shoulder, firmly sealing his lips against Combeferre's. It isn't so bad.

Then Combeferre fucks him, his face pressed into Courfeyrac's hair. He could take his time, because Courfeyrac has no leverage to hurry him, but Combeferre is quickly running out of patience. Courfeyrac's breathy moans encourage him, growing steadily louder. He comes with a cry of Combeferre's name, muffled against the sheets. Combeferre thrusts into him, rhythm giving away to desperation until he spends himself with a low groan, staying where he is as he presses kisses to Courfeyrac's back.

They lie there, panting for breath, until Courfeyrac reaches for Combeferre's hand, squeezing it. Combeferre pulls out of Courfeyrac, wiping him clean with the spare sheet. Combeferre runs his fingers through the mess on Courfeyrac's stomach, earning a lazy grin from him, before cleaning that too. They scrunch the sheet into a ball and push it aside, out of their way as they settle into each other's arms.

"I love you," Courfeyrac murmurs, kissing Combeferre gently. "I wanted to say it properly this time, look into your eyes while saying it. I mean it, you know."

Combeferre pulls him closer, resting their foreheads together. "I do, too."

"Will you stay?"

Combeferre was given his own chambers, away from Courfeyrac's, small and modest, as befit his position as tutor. They've since been upgraded to something bigger and much more comfortable. Combeferre is starting to realise that perhaps that wasn't entirely out of chance.

"I'll stay," he replies quietly, and Courfeyrac's smile is so bright that it's burned into his mind long after the lights are put out.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Goodbye, Apathy by OneRepublic.


End file.
